


Pain Equals Pleasure

by ChocolateKid



Series: Dark Fics [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Corruption, Cutting, Dark fic, Drug Addiction (implied), Drug Use, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Dubious Consent, First Time, Graphic Description, He's 18, Isolation, Jealous Castiel, Kidnapping, Killing, Kinda?, Kissing, M/M, Minor Character Death, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Serial Killer Dean, Serial Killers, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Top Dean, Torture, Touch-Starved, Twisted love, Victim Castiel, Younger Castiel, and they live happily ever after, basically cas stumbles over dean killing someone, dean kidnaps cas, i went off topic sorry, idek, idk how old Dean is but older, idk where that came from, kidnapper Dean, like 25 maybe, not all that graphic tho, not in a depressive way tho, stockholm syndrome happens, there's drugs involved tho, you'll get it once you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolateKid/pseuds/ChocolateKid
Summary: When Castiel meets Dean, he doesn't realize he's dangerous. When he eventually does, it's already too late and he ends up in Dean's basement. Will Dean and Castiel grow closer despite the circumstances?I'm bad at summaries.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> First of all, thank you, IanGray, for the prompt! It took me while but in my defense, I wrote about 11,000 words for it.
> 
> I hope it turned out the way you wanted and I apologize if I went kinda off topic... But since your prompt was very open about most stuff, I figured it would do. It still has serial killer Dean and Stockholm Syndrome in it after all and it should be dark enough I guess, heheh. I'm afraid only Castiel gets jealous in this though, but Dean's protective of him, so I hope that makes up for it! Tell me what you think. :D
> 
> Again, thank you, and I hope you'll like it.
> 
> Second of all, to everone else, my next fic will probably be fluffy again, or smutty, I haven't decided yet... But it won't be another dark fic. (They're exhausting to write because they always get bigger and bigger, they're out of control, hahah. I need a fluffy break in between. ;) ) It depends on my mood and ideas what I'll be writing.
> 
> Just like always, have fun reading this and maybe leave comment, thank you!

**Cas's POV**

I wake up in an unfamiliar bathroom with a headache so strong I barely keep myself from throwing up. I feel like shit. Not only my head hurts but everything else as well and I suddenly realize that I can't move my right arm. Why's that?

Oh. I'm chained to the sink.

...Wait a minute. I'm _chained_ to the _sink_?

All my tired numbness is suddenly gone and panic rises in me. Where the hell am I? Who brought me here? And what is that mysterious person gonna do to me?

I contemplate screaming for help. But I have no idea if there are any people nearby and I might just draw my kidnappers attention. I don't exactly want that.

If I just knew what happened... But my head hurts too badly to concentrate on anything in particular.

I shift on the cold tiles. I'm trying to get into a more comfortable position but it doesn't really help. My body still aches and the only thing I manage to do is make my wrist hurt more when it chafes against the handcuffs.

I only now notice that my left hand is free but it's of no big use, as I soon realize, since I can't reach anything that might help me and simply fingering on the handcuffs doesn't magically pop them open either. I am trapped.

I give up resignedly and try to remember what happened again. My head still hurts but slightly less so and concentrating seems to be easier. It's still hard to recollect the recent happenings though...

What's the last thing I remember?

Gabe shooing me out of the house late at night to buy us pizza. Walking to the only pizza place still open that late and taking a short-cut through a small street. Stumbling over a man leaned over an unconscious person.

Oh.

Suddenly the memory's as clear as day.

_"Can I help you, sir?" I ask, not quite able to see what exactly is going on from the distance. The man leaning over the dark form turns his head towards me in alarm. "Did somebody pass out? Do you want me to call an ambulance?" I add and quicken my step, intending to take a closer look at the unconscious person. It's a woman, I see now._

_Before I can make out any more though, the man is standing right in front of me, blocking the way._

_"I've got it covered. Thanks, man," the guy says and I stare at him in surprise. His voice is unusually deep and admittedly, he's handsome, but he has a smile on his face that doesn't seem genuine. "The ambulance will be here soon, you can go," he adds._

_"Are you sure?" I ask, hesitating. I am uncomfortable leaving them like that. There's a woman lying on the ground after all. And two persons to look out for her are better than one, right? "I can take a look at her real quick, we have to make sure she doesn't choke on her tongue. She's lying on her back, that's dangerous," I say, trying to get the man to realize that it's important, but the man shakes his head determinedly._

_"I'm sure she's fine, I already called 911, everything's good. Please go now," he says and glares at me. Wow, he's rude. I can't help but get angry; this woman is in danger, for God's sake!_

_"Let me be the judge of that," I decide and push him aside, taking a few steps towards the woman. I stop in my tracks when I see all the blood though._

_I haven't noticed before because it was too dark, but now that I'm closer I can see that almost everything is covered in her blood. The woman's clothes are soaked and her shirt is ripped, exposing the obvious reason for her death -- a gaping stab wound right in her chest. The knife in question lies next to her, covered in red as well, and her head is turned to the side, expression distorted by fear and surprise._

_She was murdered._

_"What--" I start, confused beyond believe, but suddenly, there's something hard hitting my head and I can't seem to think anymore._

_Everything turns black._

I remember everything now. A woman was killed and I witnessed it. And her murderer has taken me with him...

Is he gonna kill me, too? I have to get out of here.

I pull at the handcuffs again, making my wrist hurt even more. I know there's no use in trying but I do so anyway, and involuntarily, the clatter of metal against metal cuts through the room loudly.

I hear shuffling from outside the door and instantly know that I screwed up. I made too much noise. The guy knows I'm conscious now...

I'm as good as dead.

I stare at the slowly opening door in panic, eyes wide, anticipating to die in a few seconds, and my stare meets the handsome man's gaze involuntarily. I can't help but keep staring though, as much as I'd like to avert my eyes.

"You're awake then," the man says, looking down at me, considering me skeptically. He doesn't seem uneasy or worried, it's almost as if he's used to this kind of stuff, as if he kidnaps people on a regular basis. The thought makes me shudder.

"How's your head? Should hurt like a bitch," he says nonchalantly and I stare at him some more, not reacting in any way. I'm gonna die anyhow.

"Okay then, don't talk to me," the man mutters, raising his hands in defeat shortly, and comes closer, kneeling down in front of me.

"I would've chained both your hands but I only had one pair of handcuffs," he tells me conversationally and I feel tears prickle at the back of my head. I close my eyes in anticipation. I know he's gonna kill me now. Snap my neck. Choke me. Anything.

The man does nothing like that though and only buries his hand in my hair, slightly pulling on it. It doesn't hurt but it's not feeling very comfortable either.

When nothing more happens, I open my eyes carefully. The man is staring at me quietly.

"Are you going to kill me?" I whisper, voice trembling, and the man looks at me contemplatingly.

"We'll see," he decides. "Haven't really had company in a while," he says and a smug smirk tugs at his lips. "You really are unlucky though, I was about to let you go but you just didn't leave... And I can't exactly let you wander around knowing who I am."

"Please," I start, sounding even more frightened than before, and a wayward tear leaves my eye. "Please, I won't tell anyone, I don't even know your name, just let me go, please," I whimper. I'm a pathetic mess, that's for sure, but I'm hoping for a miracle.

The man only scoffs and his grip on my hair intensifies. I suppress a painful groan as he tugs my head closer. "Yeah right," he says, unbelieving. "And how can I be sure you won't tell anyone?" he questions and I can't bring myself to break his gaze, lip trembling slightly. I just wanna go home.

"Name's _Dean_ , by the way. Dean Winchester," he says and smiles, sickeningly sweet. "And now that you know, there's really no reason at all for me to let you go."

"Please," I repeat, my hope slowly decreasing. I am not gonna get out of here, am I?

Dean tugs on my hair again, his face now only inches from mine, lips hovering over my mouth. His eyes fall down to my lips hungrily and my breath catches in my throat.

"You know, you're actually quite handsome," Dean mutters, realization in his voice. "I might just keep you," he announces and his gaze snaps up to mine, a smug twinkle in his eyes.

His lips barely graze mine then and I press my eyes closed in fear. Is he gonna rape me, too?

But Dean only scoffs at my reaction, his hot breath hitting my face, and he lets go of me harshly. I wince quietly when my head falls back against the wall.

"You're adorable, Cas," he tells me. I look up in shock. He knows my name. "We're gonna have a lot of fun," he promises and smirks at me cockily. "A _lot_ of fun."

He stands up. "Not now though, we need to get going. I'm on the run after all," Dean tells me and pulls a key out of his pocket. He opens the handcuffs on the sink, just to attach them to my other wrist instead, and pulls me up harshly.

"Come on. And don't even try to scream, I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it." He pats his shirt to proof it, making the shape of a gun appear underneath, and I gulp nervously.

"I won't," I promise weakly, almost whispering. I probably wouldn't have tried anything even without him telling me. I'm way too scared for that.

"Good," Dean says and pulls me with him.

* * *

I'm in a basement.

Dean made me climb inside his trunk when we left what I assume was a motel room, so I didn't know where we drove. We drove a long while.

Before he let me out again, he blindfolded me, so I had no idea whatsoever about where I was or what the building we walked in looks like.

I am completely ignorant.

Dean more or less pushed me down a flight of stairs then and lead me into a room, taking off my blindfolds and handcuffs and throwing them to the ground carelessly.

Apparently, I'm where I belong.

I look around carefully. There's an uncomfortable looking bed, a pot that's probably supposed to serve as a toilet and a desk with a chair. The small window I can spot at the end of the room is high up and not big enough for a person to fit through.

I guess I was right. Dean has had more than one hostage. I shudder.

"Sit on the bed," Dean orders and I turn towards him in surprise. I just assumed he'd left, but he's still there, closing the door shut, turning a key around in the lock. I am closed in with him.

"Come on," Dean repeats and pushes me in the right direction. I whimper quietly but do as he says. There's no use in protesting anyway.

Nevertheless, worst case scenarios fly around my head right now, pictures of my naked, mutilated body on the cold basement floor. I sit down on the hard mattress, averting my eyes as to not look Dean in the eye when he steps closer.

He's right in front of me now, crotch right where my nose is, and I feel tears forming in my eyes. He's gonna rape me, he's gonna make me suck his dick, he's gonna do something...

He opens his pants. I look away.

"I've been horny the whole damn drive, baby, and all because of you," he mutters and pulls his hard cock out of his boxers. I press my eyes closed. The head of his dick touches my lips.

"Open up, sweetheart," he orders. My breathing is shallow but I part my lips reluctantly, pretending to be somewhere else, anywhere else. It doesn't help.

Dean guides his cock inside slowly, the wet heat of my mouth pulling a moan out of him, and I taste his pre-come on my tongue. It's salty.

"Oh yeah, baby, that's it," he sighs and looks down at me. He pushes in some more. His dick is heavy and thick on my tongue, and my mouth is already almost completely filled while he barely fit half of it inside. A few tears leave my eye but I try to hold them back. "Your lips look so pretty wrapped around my cock..."

He grips my hair suddenly, pushing me onto his dick slowly and pulling me away again, setting a steady rhythm. I involuntarily follow his movements. I have trouble breathing.

"Open your eyes, honey, I wanna see those baby blues looking up at me," he says and I open my teary eyes reluctantly, innocent gaze searching his as I look up at him pleadingly. His eyes get even hungrier when his gaze meets mine and he thrusts inside my mouth even deeper than before. I try to loosen my throat as best as I can.

"You're such an angel, baby, such a sweet, innocent angel," he mutters and hits the back of my throat when his speed increases again. Tears well up in my eyes again and I fight the urge to throw up. I know Dean is close, I only have to hold on for a _little_ longer...

I am right. It only takes a few more thrusts before Dean is coming down my throat, thick, hot liquid pulsing out of him lazily, filling my mouth. I swallow instinctively.

"That's right, sweetheart, swallow. Swallow it all down," Dean encourages and the look in his eyes is hooded; satisfied and hungry at the same time. Then, Dean pulls his cock out of my mouth and packs it away, closing his jeans happily.

"You did great, baby. Keep that up and I might let you take a shower tomorrow. I made the right decision keeping you," he decides and turns away, leaving me with my face burning in a twisted kind of pride and embarrassment.

I watch him leave the room, opening the lock with his key. He doesn't throw one last glance at me.

I feel inadequate.

* * *

Dean comes back hours later. I don't know how much time has passed exactly, but it's been a long while and my stomach has already started growling. I'm so hungry...

When the door eventually opens again, I'm relieved to see that Dean has food with him.

He sets the plate on the floor in front of my bed, as if I'm a dog that needs to be fed, but I don't care and simply sit down on the floor to grab the dry piece of bread. It's not much but it's better than nothing.

Dean sits down by the desk and watches me attentively. I am unsure of how to proceed. Does he want me to stop? But I'm so hungry... So I just keep nibbling on my bread, staring back at Dean self-consciously. I feel like a child. But I can't seem to be able to look away either.

"How old are you?" Dean suddenly asks and I flinch in surprise at the unexpected sound of his voice. Why does he want to know?

"18," I answer quietly after I swallowed. Dean is playing nice, I know it, weighing me in safety, only to stab a knife in my back later on.

"Barely of age," Dean says and laughs. I scowl at him weakly. I don't know what he finds so funny. But then again, I'm not in the position to tell him that.

"You're still young... Oh, I can teach you so much," he swoons and his gaze wanders to the ceiling, probably lost in his daydreams of a hundred different ways to fuck me.

I stay quiet but am suddenly not all that hungry anymore. Maybe he'll leave the bread here, so I can eat it later. Right now, he took away all of my appetite.

As if reading my thoughts, Dean's head turns back towards me. "Don't worry, I don't mean in terms of sex. Well, that too but not only," he tells me and I blush at his words. If I'm too virginal to even hear about sex, how does he expect me to _have_ it? "You ever killed a person, Cas?"

My gaze flies up to him again in horror and I shake my head quickly. I have never nor will I ever kill a human being with my own two hands. Not if I can avoid it.

"We'll get there," Dean says carelessly and lets his gaze wander around the room again.

"It's not all that comfy in here, is it?" he asks. "Not much I can do, I'm afraid."

I don't react. He doesn't continue.

The silence is deafening.

"How do you know my name?" I ask timidly, deciding that I could at least satisfy my curiosity if I was going to be used and killed anyway.

"Found your ID in your purse," he mutters. "Forgot to look at your age though."

"Would it have made a difference if I was only 17?" I want to know and Dean looks me up and down quickly, checking me out quite obviously.

"Not with that face and body," he decides and I flush again, looking away.

Dean's gaze doesn't leave me for a long while.

* * *

The first time he rapes me I cry.

It's the first time I ever have sex and I don't want to lose my virginity to a stranger, much less a killer, and I struggle and fight and scream at him to let me go. But Dean only sets his jaw in annoyance and takes me anyway. It hurts and makes me feel filthy, and even though I come, I don't feel good in any way. I'm broken when Dean is done with me.

The second time is just as bad. My pleading screams are hoarse and loud sobs break into them while Dean's cock continuously penetrates my hole again and again. I hate the helpless feeling of arousal in my gut. I don't want to like this.

Dean comes first this time and finishes me off as well, making me feel even dirtier with his hands on me. He says he's doing it to please me because I deserve it, but I believe he just likes seeing the guilt in my eyes when I realize I took pleasure from him...

The third time is different.

Dean hasn't fucked me in a few days and only came downstairs every once in a while, watching me eat or sit around doing nothing. I'm in the constant fear that he's gonna decide to fuck me again every second, but it weirdly hasn't happened yet. Dean simply sits in his chair by the desk and stares, stares, stares.

That is, until now.

The next time he comes downstairs he's on edge, his gaze wild and crazed, and I immediately know that it's gonna happen today. My heart sinks.

He walks over towards me, stumbling a little and I barely have time to wonder about what's wrong with him when he's pressing me into the wall, kissing me hungrily. I try to push him away, just like always, but he insists and only presses in harder. A sob leaves my throat and I make one last attempt at shoving him away when suddenly... He's gone.

I blink in surprise and look up. Dean is still in front of me but he's not touching me, eyes dark and angry. I crumble under his gaze.

"Fuckin' stop that, babe," he says, words sounding not quite right, a little slurred maybe. Is he drunk? "You have no idea how annoyin' it is when the other is fightin' all the time. I'm not even try'na hurt ya, I just wanna get off on you, man. Why can't you just lie back 'n' take it?" Dean asks, words slurring slightly, and I stare at him dumbfoundedly.

If he really was drunk, why's there no smell of alcohol?

Suddenly, Dean is back on me, lips mouthing at my neck, leaving wet kisses down the side of it. I'm too overwhelmed to react in any way.

His mouth comes up to my ear.

"I know how to make it better," he says, realization suddenly dawning on him, and he pulls back to look me in the eye. His pupils are blown wide when he meets my gaze, but he doesn't stare at me for long, hand fiddling with a small box in his pocket.

He takes it out and opens it.

"W-what is that?" I ask and I really don't know where I get the guts to do so. Dean ignores my question and instead takes out two of the pills -drugs probably-, gulping one down himself and holding the other one out to me.

"Swallow," he orders and presses it into my mouth. I fight against him harshly. I've never taken anything before -I've always been scared of drugs- and I don't want to start now.

"Come on, I took one, too," Dean says, irises almost black from whatever it was he took. It makes me panic. "Swallow," he orders again and his eyes are vicious.

And I do, pressing my eyes closed.

* * *

When I come to myself again, everything around me is wobbling. The lights are too bright, colors intense, and I can't help but take it all in with my mouth agape. The world is burning around me and it's beautiful, oh so beautiful.

The next thing I see is the perfect face right above mine, looking down at me hungrily. I stare at it in awe. Oh so perfect. _Wow_.

My hand comes up and touches it.

Slowly, my other senses come back to me, I'm feeling again but it's damped. There's some kind of pressure in me I feel now, something's _inside_ of me, moving in and out slowly. I realize I'm being fucked. But I don't feel scared or panicked. I also don't feel any pain.

All I feel is pleasure, pleasure everywhere.

The beautiful face now comes down on me and kisses me, tongue invading my mouth immediately. All of my senses are heightened and it feels so fucking amazing I can't help but kiss back, a moan leaving my mouth without warning. I suck on the man's tongue eagerly and pull him closer, the sound of our combined groans filling the air. The world is still a mix of glowing colors.

Suddenly the lips are gone, leaving me aching for more, and the beautiful face is looking down at me smugly, dick still pushing in and out of me relentlessly. I feel so amazing it's almost unnatural.

"Feels good, huh?" the face asks, voice slurred, and I can _see_ his words flying across the room. My eyes follow them absent-mindedly but I nod nevertheless, all the while fucking myself back on the man's dick in desperation. I am unfocused but more than great. "Feels even better the second time," he promises and happiness spreads in me all of a sudden, knowing that I'll be feeling like this again. I don't wanna feel anything but this pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.

The cock inside of me increases its pace, hitting this one spot again and again, and if it felt good before, it feels fucking _unbelievable_ when I'm coming.

The world explodes in a burst of colors, red and blue and green dancing across the room, and the relief and happiness I feel intensifies even more. My body arches into the other one, jerking violently as if I'm having a fit, when the beautiful man comes himself and holds me close, riding out his orgasm inside of me.

I feel so close to him in that moment, it's almost as if I could just climb inside of him and stay there forever.

After a few seconds that feel like hours, the man pulls his cock out of me and attempts to leave but I start crying in protest and pull him back against me. Touch is pleasure and I am needy; if he leaves me alone, I'm gonna be cold.

The man stays.

* * *

It takes hours until I'm thinking clearly again. Most of the time under the influence I'm a barely conscious mess, holding on to Dean with a death grip and blabbering unintelligible sentences. I feel like I'm flying.

Dean's about the same as I but clearer. The first time's overwhelming, he tells me later, the second time it will be easier to focus. He says it'll be even greater and promises to show it to me soon.

I'm happy.

We're kind of cuddling the rest of the time, naked bodies wrapped around the other desperately while Dean keeps talking about stuff I can't remember. If I had to take a guess, I'd say it was about something intimate. Probably some 'confiding in the one that won't remember most of the night' thing.

Dean leaves before I come back to my senses completely and he's probably smart to do so, because when I wake up and am fully clear again, I'm having a full-blown panic attack.

I don't quite know if it's a simple repercussion of the drug or if I'm freaking out all on my own, because damn, I haven't had an attack like this in years.

Then again, my panic was long overdue, seeing as I've been in Dean's basement for about two weeks already without any serious attack. I knew it was gonna happen sooner or later. That doesn't change the fact that I hate the feeling of helplessness and like I'm not getting enough oxygen.

I suffer through my attack alone, only keeping myself from passing out by calming down through memories of my loved ones. Mom making me pancakes for breakfast, a sweet smile on her face when she watches me gulp it down in one go; Dad reading me one of his newest stories that he's just about to publish, eyes glowing in excitement; Gabriel, my brother, coming into my room every night to talk about my day, knowing that school wasn't always easy for me. And weirdly enough, even though Gabe could be an asshole, he's the one I miss the most.

I wonder what my family's doing at the moment. Are they looking for me? Are they worried?

...I miss them.

My panic fades after a while, leaving me behind empty and exhausted. I have a sinking feeling in my gut, signaling the start of a depression. I wanna do nothing but hide away from the world forever.

When Dean comes downstairs the next time, he finds me pouting under the bed, half-asleep but mostly awake.

"You okay?" he asks and it almost sounds like he's actually worried. I make a sound that he can interpret however he wants.

"Come out of there," he then says.

I crawl out from under the mattress reluctantly, still pouting slightly when Dean starts caressing my head gently, sitting down on the bed carelessly. It feels better than it should and I'm way too exhausted to care that it's Dean making me feel that way, so I just close my eyes and lean against his leg heavily. My breathing gets shallower when he doesn't stop.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Dean asks, voice quiet and soothing, and I know he's talking about the sex. I don't answer, too exhausted to think of an appropriate reply.

"It can be like that all the time, angel," he says and his voice continues making me sleepy beyond belief. "It's easier if you don't fight it all the time. It'll feel better for the both of us."

I stay quiet. What does he expect me to say?

He's right though. Fighting him is hard and exhausting, and I'm not getting out of here anyway. Dean's not concerned about that in the slightest. Maybe I should just give up my resolve and comply...

Tears well up in my eyes when I realize what I'm gonna decide for.

Dean lets me sob into his thigh quietly.

* * *

From then on, sex with Dean is easier. I don't struggle anymore, just wait it out as best as I can and throw in the occasional moan. Dean's been a little gentler from then on, too, most of the time at least, and I'm pretty sure that if I tried and gave in completely, I might even be able to enjoy it.

I don't allow myself to do so though. I'd feel too filthy giving in.

Every once in a while Dean is high while taking me. He's rougher when he is, less considerate, and as much as I'd like to, Dean never gives me another pill. I don't dare to ask.

I can see it in Dean's gaze when he comes downstairs now though, whether he just wants to sit with me and talk, or fuck me into the mattress relentlessly. The expression in his eyes tells me everything.

And I give him what he wants either way. I'm nothing more to him after all, an ear to listen and a hole to fuck.

For some reason though, the days he doesn't visit are the worst. Yeah, he kidnapped me and rapes me on a regular basis and I know that he killed enough persons that he doesn't remember how many; but if he's here, at least I'm not alone. Being alone is what's hard; being alone is what drives me insane. There's too much time to think, too little space to move and nothing to relieve my mind.

So, logically, I started taking comfort in Dean's presence... I started sitting closer to him while eating, I started asking about things and replying to most of his questions, too. If I'd been able to, I would have probably crawled over to him and touched him, seeking human contact, but I was still too scared I'd make him want to fuck me that way.

But to be honest, I am beginning to think Dean taking advantage of me isn't even the worst thing there is. The loneliness and boredom while being alone is slowly driving me crazy and I'm starting to crave human touch like I used to crave hamburgers. So whenever Dean comes downstairs to fuck, I can't help but take, take, take.

So yeah, it is kinda getting harder to stay away from him when he visits just to talk. Especially because Dean seems to have realized what's going on. He seems to know that I'm struggling with staying away, that I need somebody to touch me every once in a while, and he cruelly decided to tease me until I can't take it anymore. He hasn't touch me in days, hasn't even stroked my hair like he does sometimes, and every time he leaves, I have to suppress frustrated tears.

Aren't I what he wants? Aren't I doing what he needs me to? I'm willing, for once, I barely fight him anymore, so why the hell does he stay away on purpose?

He just adds to my beginning insanity.

It takes about a week for me to break. Dean has been cutting back on the hours he spends in the room as well, trying to isolate and crack me, and I'm shocked to see that it works. I've been spending the whole morning crying.

I don't know what Dean does when he's not with me but since I'm under the impression that he doesn't have a lot of inhibitions about killing, I'm pretty sure it's not something I want to know. Maybe it's good that the rooms in the basement are more or less soundproof...

All of a sudden, the door opens. It's Dean -who else could it be- and he brings lunch. I crawl over to him with swollen eyes, suppressing my tears, and take the plate quietly. It's steak this time, already cut into even pieces. Dean has been giving me nothing but homemade meals once I started doing what he told me to and I had to admit, his food was actually quite good.

Not that I am even close to being hungry at the moment. For some reason I feel like I won't be able to swallow even a tiny piece.

After handing me the plate, all the while carefully keeping his hands away from my skin, Dean turns to leave the room but I'm reaching for him on instinct, hand in an iron grip around his ankle. He stops and turns towards me curiously.

"Where are you going?" I whimper and wince at how pathetic I sound.

Dean only looks at me for a few seconds, taking in my disheveled appearance, before he finally answers.

"I was planning to go upstairs. Why?"

"You can't leave me, Dean," I say and my voice breaks unexpectedly. I start to cry without warning, my hand around his foot loosening until it slides to the floor limply. "Please don't leave me," I sob.

And then, suddenly, Dean's hand is on mine and he's crouching down in front of me, giving me comfort and warmth just by being there. I stare up at him with wet eyes.

"What do you want me to do?" Dean asks and his words sound genuine even though the gaze in his eyes is beginning to get hungry. It suits my purposes though.

"Just-- just touch me," I cry, every ounce of shame long gone. "Touch me, hold me, fuck me, I don't even care anymore, just don't leave me alone again!"

"Alright," Dean says and smiles.

And then his hands are all over me. In seconds, I am pushed onto the bed, strong hands pulling on my shirt and shoving it off my body, and then Dean's taking off his own shirt as well. I am slightly overwhelmed by the feeling of skin on skin, taking every touch as if I'm starving. I haven't been touched in days, so it's almost too much all of a sudden. I'm thankful for it though.

My heart is racing when Dean takes off our pants and throws them to the ground next to our shirts. I don't remember when I ever felt this good.

Dean's hands travel all over my body, unashamed and hungry. I suck it all in. All the attention he has denied me this last week, I'm taking it all back now, pulling him down towards me, pressing myself against him, kissing every inch of skin I can reach. I'm in heaven.

The sound of moans is the only thing filling the room.

"Dean--" I gasp when his lips close around my nipples, sucking enthusiastically, and my body arches into his. My erection collides with his own hard dick and the groan we let out at that makes me crave more. I rub my dick against his through our boxers, not caring about anything else and not patient enough to take off this one last piece of clothing.

It's the first time since I took that pill that I'm truly feeling good having sex.

"Dean," I exclaim, a sudden want tugging at me from the inside.

"Do you--" I start and the tone of my voice makes Dean stop and look up. "Do you still have -- those pills?" I ask, gulping down my nervousness. Being bashful is of no use when it comes to Dean; if I want something, I need to tell him directly. And I _want_ those pills.

Dean only smirks at me knowingly and nods, letting go off me. "Sure do," he says and turns to leave the room quickly. He doesn't lock, but I'm not even thinking about escaping.

He's back not even fifty seconds later, a box in his hands -- together with a sharp knife.

"What's the knife for?" I ask, slightly worried but overall trusting Dean. He hasn't killed me so far, why would he do it now? Still, the sight of the knife makes me queasy.

"I wanna show you something later," he says nonchalantly and puts it down at the edge of the bed for future use. Then he crawls back onto the bed with me.

"Here," he offers and holds out the opened box to me. I take one of the pills carefully. Dean gets one himself, closes the box and throws it to the ground carelessly, eyeing me up in challenge and cocking an eyebrow. He's waiting for me to swallow.

So I do. I smile bashfully and tilt back my head, throwing the drug in the air and catching it with my mouth easily. I gulp it down. Dean smirks but says nothing and only does the same, throwing and catching the pill without much difficulty.

I don't know what I expected, but it feels different this time. I don't black out like last time, instead, I can clearly feel the drug beginning to infiltrate my system. My sight is starting to get blurry at the edges, my focus sharpens, colors seem to get brighter and words spoken echo across the room. It's similar to last time but not as sudden.

"Feelin' good yet?" Dean asks, tongue obviously starting to feel heavy, and not even a second later, he's pressing me into the mattress, attacking my mouth hungrily. The pills make horny, I realize, they make horny and happy and insane.

I don't bother replying -- but I don't have time to anyway, because Dean's devouring me alive.

Our kisses are sloppy, tongues sucking on each other's, strings of spit connecting our mouths together. It's amazing, with all of my senses heightened.

Dean gets rid of our boxers soon enough, ripping them down as if they offended him, and then he rubs his erection against the crack of my ass eagerly. He doesn't prep me before he enters, just covers his hand in spit and strokes a few times, making his dick nice and wet as well, and then pushes in.

It doesn't hurt, even though it should. All I feel is joy, the stretch of my hole not even registering. The pain I should feel is replaced by pleasure and once again I am overwhelmed by sensations. I fuck myself down on Dean's cock without restraint, despite knowing better, but then again, I'm chasing my orgasm with everything I have. Dean is pushing and pushing and suddenly he's hitting that spot and I don't even notice that Dean starts stroking my dick. He must've realized he himself got too close to coming.

Our orgasms hit at the exact same time. I am cramping up, come spilling out of my dick violently and my mouth falls open in a silent cry. The world around me is trembling, colors mix, white flashes and I am close to passing out but hold on to those overwhelming sensations I need to feel. Dean's about the same, I notice now, holding on to me for dear life while my clenching hole relentlessly milks the come out of him. It's messy and dirty, but it's perfect.

We do it again afterwards. We're too horny to care, cocks ready again after what feels like seconds, and we give in to our drives happily. It's amazing how good one can feel while exhausting themself.

Dean fucks me three times in total before we stop. We're lying next to each other when we're finally done, breathing heavily and trying to calm down slowly. The third orgasm has been the most intense one until now and I might've even blacked out for a minute or two, but God, it was fucking worth it. Everything about this was fucking worth it.

Dean turns his head towards me now and grins, and all I can do is look back at him in awe, smiling happily. He's so beautiful, and even though I knew that before, I can't help but be surprised at how truly stunning he is every time I look at him.

Suddenly, Dean sits up. "I wanted to show you something," he remembers.

"Yes, show me," I say and giggle gladly. I'm still as high as the clouds. "Show me, baby, show me," I repeat and climb onto Dean's lap to kiss him. I feel him smile against my lips but push me away softly.

"I'm serious," he snickers himself and even though I'm pouting slightly, a grin steals itself on my face. I can't stay mad when everything is funny.

Dean now reaches for the knife he put down on the bed before and weighs it in his hands. "You know what's fuckin' amazing about those pills?" he asks and I nod enthusiastically. _Everything_ is great about those pills.

But that's not what Dean means.

He grips one of my wrists with his left hand and pulls my arm closer, then he sets the knife down against my skin. He looks up at me. "Ready?" he asks and his eyes are gleaming with happiness.

I nod. He cuts.

I don't know what I feel. It's not pain, not really, because nothing hurts when you're as high as we are. Instead, a pleasant shudder runs down my spine and my eyes widen in surprise. I can hear my heartbeat thumping in my chest and suddenly, I know what's so amazing about those pills. _Pain equals pleasure_.

The cut actually isn't all that deep but almost immediately pearls of blood are forming on my skin, the red color glowing beautifully. I dip my finger into the liquid, watching in awe when my finger is suddenly covered in red as well.

I look up at Dean.

"Again," I demand and Dean is smirking. He cuts me again, a little higher up my forearm and it's mad how good it feels. This cut is deeper, blood spilling out of it, running down my arm and I wanna be covered in it everywhere, that wonderful color glowing all over my skin. The thought makes me whine.

Dean adds two more cuts then, one on my other arm and one running from my heart to my belly button. I am beginning to look the way I want.

Then, Dean pushes the knife into my hands all of a sudden and closes his hand around my grip. "Now you," he says and holds out his arm towards me.

I look up at him in wonder. He wants me to cut him. He _trusts_ me to cut him. I can't deny him his wish.

More blood is spilling, red color against white skin and I have the weird urge kiss it. I don't though. Instead, I add another cut on Dean's shoulder and hear him humming contently. He pulls me closer eagerly and bares his throat, pointing a finger to it, offering.

 _Be careful_ , something in the back of my mind screams, _you could kill him_.

But it's the danger that's so thrilling about this. It's the danger both Dean and I seek.

I lightly press the knife against his throat.

* * *

When I eventually wake up, I feel thirsty. So very thirsty.

Dean's naked body is wrapped around mine, covered in dried blood but breathing. I didn't kill him. For some reason, I'm relieved about that.

I am just as bloody as Dean is, only now beginning to feel the wounds we've inflicted on each other and hissing from the numb pain. Obviously, the time of pleasure is over and reality is crushing down upon us quickly.

Dean is starting to move now, too, groaning and rolling off of me exhaustedly. Apparently, he's not immune to the repercussions either. He sits up with some effort, rubbing his tired eyes and yawning, before he glances over to me expressionlessly.

Dean looks like he just hit a brick wall and I assume I don't look much better.

"I need water," I croak and it hurts when I speak. Dean nods slowly.

"We both do," he decides, voice hoarse, and he turns away, starting to inspect the wounds on his body. There are a few more cuts than I remember, a big one across his stomach and a smaller one on his hip, a few tiny ones on his biceps.

I feel uneasy when I think about what we've done. The things that could have happened...

"Come on, we both need a shower," Dean suddenly says, ripping me from my thoughts and I look up at him in surprise. He barely lets me shower, normally he just gives me a cloth and a bucket of water and leaves me to it.

I suppose this is a special occurrence though.

I follow him upstairs, a little surprised by the fact that he didn't blindfold me, but I don't complain. My whole body hurts anyhow.

"Try anything and I'll kill you," Dean warns me before we leave the room but his voice doesn't have its usual edge to it. I didn't even realize that this would be the perfect opportunity to try and escape. I'm too used to being captured by now, I guess.

When in the bathroom, Dean steps into the shower with me, helping me cleaning the parts of my body I can't reach and I do the same for him. I know I should not feel this domestic with a serial killer and kidnapper but after such a long time without human contact, I don't have the strength to pretend I don't like it.

"It's been a long while since I've let anybody do that to me," Dean says when I'm following the cut on his throat with a finger. My eyes fly up to his. "You could've killed me."

He stares down at me, his gaze intense. I can't bring myself to look away. "But you didn't," Dean concludes. "You're special."

"I was high," I protest quickly. I am not ready to admit it just yet. "I would kill you in an instance if you gave me the chance now."

"I sincerely doubt it," Dean says cockily and covers my hand that's still touching his skin as proof. I scowl at him and rip my hand away. I will not give him the satisfaction.

"Just admit it," he teases. "You _like_ me."

"I don't," I hiss. "I would never."

But I know it's not quite true and so does Dean.

* * *

"Wanna learn somethin'?" Dean asks when he's sitting on the bed across from me, both of us high again.

It doesn't happen all that often to be honest but the times it does happen are always amazing. I know it's not right, I know that drugs are bad, but God, I've never felt anything like it. They're the only distraction I have in the dull room I'm locked in and it's a huge relief every time I take one.

Besides, the pills make Dean somewhat easier to read and it's reassuring to know what he's thinking every once in a while.

"Yes, I do wanna learn somethin'," I repeat his words enthusiastically, slurring slightly, and Dean stands up, holding out his hand to me. I take it immediately.

That's another thing. Dean is somewhat touchy-feely when he's on drugs and I've come to realize that I actually quite like the harmless, seemingly coincidental way he touches me. And even though I wouldn't admit it in a hundred years while being sober, I'm more honest to the both of us when I'm high, which makes me able to accept the tenderness he sometimes shows towards me.

"Come on," he says and pulls me with him towards the door. I 'm wondering if we're gonna leave the room.

We do. Dean opens the door without hesitation and drags me with him across the hallway, stopping in front of the only other room in the basement. I've never been in there and I'm curious to know what Dean's hiding.

Turns out it's his victims.

When Dean opens the door and enters, pulling me inside as well, I immediately know what this is. A torture chamber. A place where Dean hurts and kills, a place where he satisfies his urges.

It's obvious.

Especially when there's a bloody, beaten man hanging from the ceiling limply, a cloth in his mouth to keep him from screaming. His skin shimmers in a lovely shade of red.

He's barely breathing, but his eyes are open, their expression scared and panicky. He jerks on the ropes when he notices us.

"Are we gonna kill 'im?" I ask, eyes wide, because what else would Dean want to teach me?

Dean nods and grins manically. "Hell yeah we will. Dude's been hanging from the ceiling for days already, he won't last much longer anyway," he tells me.

When I stare at him in shock, Dean's hand is on my back, soothing me.

"Don't worry, baby," he says and presses a kiss against my temple. "I'll show you everythin'." He turns my head towards him now, engulfing me in a sudden filthy kiss that seems to last hours and I instantly know I don't stand a chance. I'm intoxicated by his touches, the feeling of his lips on mine, the drugs in my system.

I know I'm gonna kill this man with him.

When Dean pulls back, I feel dizzy. "Here," Dean says and pushes a sharp knife into my hand. I stare at it in wonder.

"Let 'im suffer for a while, okay?" Dean proposes. I don't react. "If it helps, the guy's a pastor who raped eleven children."

That elicits a reaction. My gaze flies up to the helpless man on the ropes immediately, eyes narrowing in anger when I realize what the guy has done. Raping children -- in my eyes, that's the worst crime one can commit.

I weigh the blade in my hands and step closer, feeling Dean's presence right behind me the whole time. I look up. The guy is jerking on the ropes again, trying to get away from me, humming loudly in fear, but I ignore it all pointedly. This man deserves no mercy.

I raise the knife to his stomach.

"I told ya to let 'im suffer, honey," Dean repeats and buries his nose in the crook of my neck, inhaling. "If you stab 'im in the stomach, he'll be dead way too soon."

I hesitate. What can I do to make him suffer? What can I do so this man gets what he deserves? Dean has the answer.

"Cut off his finger," he suggests.

I do.

Somehow, I'm glad the man is gagged, not having to hear his screams, but on the other hand, I'd love to hear his pain. He deserves it.

I look down at the cut off pinky lying in my hand. Red liquid is pooling in the palm of my hand, the color seemingly enlightening the room, and a small smile spreads on my face. Such beauty.

I let the pinky drop to the floor when I look back up, determined to make this guy suffer a lot more.

I add hurtful wounds in places I know are gonna hurt, I cut off two more fingers, I cut off one of his nipples -- that last one having the worst reaction until now. I am proud and continue.

Once the man is bleeding from what feels like every pore, his fighting becomes less and less, exhaustion and blood loss making him weak. He won't be alive for much longer.

"Let's make the final stab together," Dean says and his arms wrap around me, hand covering my own one around the knife. He guides me forward resolutely and raises the blade to the man's chest.

I am the one who shoves it inside.

Something in the back of my head screams. _What have you done?_ It sounds muffled.

I'm killing a man, I realize. A guilty man, yes, but I'm killing a man nevertheless.

I don't feel shame, or panic, or sadness. All I feel is a numb kind of acceptance, a resigned knowledge that this is what I've come to be.

It has only taken Dean this short of a time to make me a murderer.

* * *

"Sammy's got himself a girlfriend. Her name's Jess," Dean tells me when I'm sitting in his lap eating dinner at the desk. We've grown closer since I killed for the first time.

"Oh, really?" I ask. Dean's been telling me a lot about his life lately, mostly about anything concerning his little brother because apparently, Sam's the only one he has in his life beside me. I feel special that I get to hear about him.

"Yeah," Dean says and I can feel his thoughts are somewhere else. "She's his high school sweetheart," he scoffs amusedly. "I always knew they'd end up together. Sammy is absolutely smitten."

I smile at the warmth in Dean's voice. His brother is the only person he talks about with such open love and affection, and it makes me feel warm just hearing about it. It reminds me of my own family.

Suddenly, my smile falters. I miss them.

But then again, I can barely remember what they looked like; life truly seems to slow down when you're locked in.

"Have you had a high school sweetheart?" Dean suddenly asks, distracting me, and I look back up at him. He seems genuinely curious.

"No," I answer truthfully. "There was no one. School hasn't exactly been easy for me anyway."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks and he raises his eyebrow. He seems concerned.

"Well... I've always been kind of a loser," I admit, a little ashamed. But Dean never judges me, so I continue being honest with him. "I was a loner, frankly, never had a lot of friends. Adding to my weirdness was that I was the only openly gay guy at school, so nobody really wanted to be seen with me. It was scandalous."

"Did you get bullied?" Dean wants to know and he sets his jaw hard, seeming weirdly upset. My heart flutters when I realize he's angry at my harassers.

"I-- I did," I say, voice hoarse, and I clear my throat awkwardly. I look away. "By the football players mostly. But it's alright, I survived."

"They shouldn't do stuff like that though," Dean grumbles. He looks thoughtful.

"What's the name of the guy you despise the most?" he then asks and I tilt my head in confusion. Why does he want to know?

"Alastair Morre," I say. "He used to beat me up in the locker room."

Dean nods heavily. "I'll see what I can do..."

I don't really know what he means by that.

* * *

I find out a few days later.

Dean didn't spend a lot of time with me today at all, being out of the house for once, but it's okay because I know where he is. He told me that he had to pick up an old friend, some guy named Benny... It's the first time I heard Dean talk about anyone else but Sam and I am kinda jealous but then again, Dean'll return to me every time, so I am not all that worried. I'm the one Dean _wants_ to keep.

Nevertheless, I am lonely for the time being. And also a little hungry, I realize. For whatever reason, despite having had a big breakfast, my stomach is growling relentlessly.

I walk around the room, slightly relieving my stiff limbs, before eventually walking over to the door and pressing down the handle. It's become some kind of habit of mine, trying to open the door that's always locked -- I don't even know why I do. It's not like I'm even particularly keen on leaving anymore; I wouldn't know what to do in the outside world anyway. My life's been reduced to these four grey walls and Dean.

Imagine my surprise when the door actually opens.

I pull my hand away as if I burned myself. The door swings open slowly, creaking unnaturally loud, and I stare at it in shock.

Dean forgot to lock it.

The door is open, I think to myself. I can leave. I am completely free to do whatever I want.

I don't move.

What am I supposed to do? What am I even gonna do outside? I don't know anymore. The door in front of my eyes is wide open, inviting me, taunting me, knowing that I'll be back without a doubt. I feel inferior.

"Hello?" a voice suddenly shouts, sounding panicky, and I look up surprisedly. This is not Dean's voice. "Is anybody here? I need help, _please_!"

The voice sounds vaguely familiar. I can't fit a face to it yet though.

"Please!"

All of a sudden, I'm moving. I leave the room, carefully checking my surroundings, and I follow the voice down the hallway. I stop in front of Dean's torture chamber. Somebody's in there, crying for help... I don't really intend to let them go, but I'm still curious.

I open the door slowly.

"Hel-- Oh, thank God!" the voice exclaims, sobbing in relief, and when I see his face, I instantly know who this voice belongs to. My blood freezes.

How could I ever forget?

_"Huh, you little faggot?" he laughs as his boot is kicking into my side over and over and over again. My ribs feel bruised already and I can barely breathe. "Still haven't had enough?"_

_I stay on the ground helplessly, fighting for air, while Alastair and his friends continue kicking me. It really isn't fair, I think to myself; it's four against one and I'm lying on the floor._

_But then again, Alastair's never been one of the fair guys..._

_"Listen, faggot," Alastair says now and crouches down right next to me. His breath is disgustingly close to my ear. "If I see you looking at me in the changing room one more time, then God help you, I'll eat you alive."_

_I suppress tears._

_I have never_ ever _looked at this disgusting piece of shit when he was changing; if high school has taught me one thing, it's that you avert your eyes when changing if the whole football team is in your PE class._

_But Alastair doesn't believe me. He never does._

_And even if he did, it wouldn't matter. He hurts me for the fun of it, not because he's particularly disgusted by me watching him. He just enjoys bringing pain upon people._ _And_ _I am the only one h_ _elpless enough, friendless enough, to be a great victim._

"You need to help me, man!" Alastair pleads, not having recognized me yet. "This sick guy kidnapped me and tortured me and he's just so fucking _insane_ , man, please, I need you to get me out of here!"

Alastair's words slur in my brain when anger suddenly clouds my thoughts. The guy who has bullied me for _years_ , who has caused more harm on my body than a teenager should ever endure, is asking _me_ , his victim, the guy he's despised from the beginning, to _rescue_ him?

A bitter laugh escapes my throat. Alastair falls quiet.

"C-Castiel?" he then asks, recognition on his face, and I can almost see the huge 'oh shit' in his expression.

"Castiel, buddy, it's _so_ good to see you!" he lies, drops of sweat forming on his forehead. "Listen, if you can just get me out of here, I'll never bother you again, I'll give you money, however much you want okay, just get me out, please," he begs, seeing something in my eyes that scares him. He's down on his luck though, trying to save himself with pathetic deals. But deep inside he knows it won't work.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," I say, voice icy, and I honestly can't remember when I've ever been this angry at someone. Alastair, naked, hanging from the ceiling in Dean's basement, beaten and bloody and just _waiting_ for somebody to kill him, was the best present Dean could've given me, knowingly or not.

I reach for the knife on the table. Alastair blanches.

I don't have the patience to torture him much longer. I don't have the nerve to listen to his desperate pleadings to 'Stop, stop, stop!' and I certainly don't want to hear his apologies. They're not genuine anyhow.

So instead of taking my time, I simply step around Alastair so I'm standing right behind him, his body desperately trying to wiggle away from me and mumbling a mantra of 'No, please, don't', but I'm not paying any mind to it. I am furious, possessed by revenge and not giving in to my conscience. This is what this monster deserves.

Viciously, I position the tip of my knife right at his asshole. Alastair freezes.

I smile despite myself. It's the perfect payback. "Who's the faggot now, Alastair?" I growl and thrust the knife inside of him.

His screams echo across the room.

* * *

After I'm done, I go upstairs to find some food. I haven't been anywhere in the house except for Dean's bathroom and it's interesting to wander around the place completely on my own: imagining Dean sitting on the couch, watching TV -- Dean cooking in the kitchen, making me dinner...

I desperately wanna be a part of that life.

I search the kitchen for something edible and easy to make, and come up with mac and cheese. It's enough for the moment and I've always like the cheap instant stuff you can buy at the store anyway.

Ten minutes later I am sitting down on the couch with a bowl of noodles, contently taking a random book from the shelf and starting to read. It's been a while since I've had a book in my hands and I'm cozy and feeling so very different than downstairs. I wonder if I have to go back once Dean returns. I don't want to. But I'll probably have to, because no matter what, I can't leave Dean either. He's everything I still know.

All of a sudden, the front door opens and I look up curiously, expecting Dean to be back but instead meeting the gaze of somebody else.

It's a man with a scruff, he's tall and bulky and wearing a baseball cap. I have never seen him before in my life. When his eyes meet mine, he stops in the middle of the room, eyeing me up curiously and frowning.

"Who are you?" he asks, not unfriendly, and I notice his heavy accent immediately. I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

"I'm Dean's boyfriend," I say defiantly, raising my chin at the stranger. "Who are you?" I demand.

The guy only grins and holds up a paper bag. "I'm his drug dealer," he explains and my suspicion fades away slightly. I smile.

The door opens again and this time it's Dean entering, throwing his keys into the bowl and taking off his jacket. He doesn't notice me just yet.

"Man, that was one hell of a drive," he starts, obviously speaking to the other guy, and turns around to him distractedly. "Never seen so many damn car--"

He spots me. And freezes.

"Um..." he utters and blinks. I wave, smiling.

"Cas," he mutters, dumbfounded. "What-- what are you doing here?"

"You forgot to lock up and I found your present," I reply cryptically while getting up from the couch and walking over to the two men. "I wanted to say thanks."

Dean simply stares at me for a second or two, not quite getting what I was talking about, when it suddenly dawns on him.

"Oooh," he says and a sweet smile steals on his face. "Well, did you like it?"

"Very much so," I smirk and lean in to kiss him. He doesn't expect it but reciprocates anyway, hand reaching for my waist instinctively. I press against him.

Sadly, he pulls away after a few seconds, aware of the other dude's eyes on us.

"So," the stranger says and raises his eyebrows at Dean. "Aren't you gonna introduce us?"

"Oh, right. Of course," Dean mutters, being pulled back to reality, and introduces us quickly. "Benny, this is Cas. Cas, Benny."

The man holds out his hand to me. "Nice to meet ya, buddy," he says.

"Nice to meet you, too," I reply, suddenly feeling bashful. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nah, it's fine," Benny assures me and I smile, starting to take a liking in the guy. He seems alright, really.

"I'll leave you to it then," I say and pick up the bowl and the book I left on the living room table. "I'll be downstairs if you need me," I announce and leave, feeling Dean's stunned gaze on me the whole time.

When I arrive back in my room, I leave the door open, wanting to hear when Dean is coming downstairs. I don't know how he'll react to me wandering around the house and killing his victim without permission but I don't think he'll be all that angry...

It's hours before I finally hear the sound of footsteps. Unexpectedly though, Dean doesn't enter my room immediately, instead, I hear the door of his torture chamber creak open. He's taking a look at the mess I made, I realize. I instinctively wonder whether he likes it.

The door closes again and a few seconds later, Dean is standing in my room, staring at me as if I'm an angel. I don't break eye contact when he comes closer and cups my face with his hands. His eyes are full of wonder.

He pulls me closer and kisses me, slow and sensual. It's the first time he's kissed me like this and I crave more of it. It feels like pure love.

"You didn't leave," Dean mumbles when he presses his forehead against mine. "You had the chance and you still didn't leave." His words are filled with disbelief and so full of emotion that I kiss him again, wrapping my arms around his waist affectionately. He doesn't realize just how much I need him.

"Why would I leave?" I mutter and the moment I say the words I know they are true. "I don't ever want to leave you, Dean."

And then Dean kisses me again, and again, desperation showing in the way his hand grips my shirt. He has me, he understands now, he's had me for a while already. He doesn't need to keep worrying because I am not going anywhere.

"What do you say, you move upstairs with me?" Dean suddenly suggests between kisses and I can hardly believe what he's asking me to do.

I don't have to think twice before saying yes.


End file.
